’I ’ont be running away from any man’s house, Mr Owen.  I do hope I’m as good as your father any day.’

‘Oh, pray make haste,’ said Mrs Prothero, very much frightened.  ‘Good-bye, cousin.  Forgive me if I have been rude?  I beg your pardon.’

‘This way, ma’am, if you please,’ said Gladys, opening the door; but Mrs Jenkins was smoothing down her silk dress, and arranging her bonnet in the looking glass.

’Quite ready for another husband, aunt; but you had better make haste, you don’t know what you may come in for if you meet my father.’

‘I am not caring neither,’ said the little woman, sweeping across the room and out at the door.  At the top of the stair she met Mr Prothero, face to face.  The effect of her appearance upon that worthy man is not to be described.  She made a kind of curtsey and began to speak, but no sooner did she see his face than she held her tongue.  Neither did words appear to come at the farmer’s bidding, but very decided deeds did.  He took the alarmed Mrs Jenkins by the two shoulders, literally lifted her from the ground, carried her downstairs a great deal faster than she came up, helped her along the passage much in the same way, and with something very nearly approaching a kick and an oath, turned her out of doors, and shut the door behind her with so violent a bang that it echoed through the house.

Owen ran down stairs to receive the first brunt of his passion, and to prevent his going up to his mother.  He allowed the words that came at last to have way, and then took all the fault on himself; said that he had admitted Mrs Jenkins to try to soothe his mother, and that she had done so, he thought.

’Take you care, sir, how you let that ’ooman darken my doors again, or any one belonging to her.  It’ll be worse for you than for them,’ said Mr Prothero, with a brow like a thunder cloud.

His wrath was interrupted by the sound of wheels, and to Owen’s great relief, he saw the head of his uncle’s well known grey mare through the window.  He ran out to admit him and his aunt.

‘We have just seen Mrs Jenkins, Owen,’ began his aunt.

‘Not a word to father, aunt.’

’Very well.  But she stopped us and began telling us that she had been turned out of these doors, and would have the law on your father.  She was furious; talked of Netta and Howel, and your mother, and Paris, and the wedding, all in the same breath, and would not let us go on until we had heard all.  Neither of us spoke to her, but she stood at the horse’s head and frightened me to death.’

When they all went into the hall, they found that Mr Prothero was not there.  Gladys came in and said he was with her mistress, but had not mentioned Mrs Jenkins.

‘I am afraid she has made my mistress worse, sir,’ she said to Owen.  ‘She has been very faint ever since she left,’